Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“Worried about meeting the rest of the Kolbecks?” Andor asks me.
I blink and bring my gaze to his. For a moment I had forgotten where I was. Who knows what expression took over my face, what truth he tried to glean?
“I’m worried about my aunt,” I hedge. It’s not a lie—but I’m not about to tell him some sad memory from my past.
He nods and pulls out a necklace that was hiding beneath his shirt, its pendant grasped in his hand as he twirls it over and over again.
It’s a tooth.
A dragon’s tooth. Must have belonged to a sycledrage, perhaps the same one he got the claw from.
“We’ll get her safe, you’ll see,” Andor says.
“How am I supposed to believe that?” I tell him. “Thanks to Lemi, everyone in Menheimr is going to know I’m here. You said so yourself. Word will travel. Someone is probably sending a raven to Dalgaard as we speak.”
Lemi huffs at that, perhaps an apology, then lays his head in my lap. Andor continues to twirl the tooth around the chain. “And if that happens, they will also report that you were here against your will, under armed escort.”
“And then my aunt will get word of that and worry. It might kill her. Who knows what she will do?” The last thing I want is for her to go off on some sort of rescue mission.
He stops moving the tooth for a moment and stares at me thoughtfully. A wash of something soft comes over his face, like longing, but not quite.
I’m about to ask him what he’s staring at, when he starts moving the tooth again, sliding it up and down the chain of the necklace, making a whirring sound that seems to fill the cabin.
“Steiner’s raven will deliver her a message that you are in good hands and that you’ll see her soon,” he says.
I ignore the very untrue comment about being in “good hands.” I clear my throat. “And how do you expect this bird to reach her? You don’t even know where she lives.”
“Moon is very adept at seeking people out. She can fly faster than any ship can sail. She’ll find your aunt and relay the message.”
“And if the message falls off?” I say, thinking of the passenger doves we have back in Esland that will fly to certain areas with tiny scrolls attached to their legs. Not to mention the difficulties a bird would have flying in the underground caverns.
He looks at me with bright eyes. “It can’t fall off. Moon speaks her message.”
“You have a talking bird?”
“You have a shifting dog,” he counters.
“So is it like a parrot?”
Andor shrugs and keeps the tooth whirring back and forth on the chain. “Something like that.”
The sound of the pendant is starting to grate on me. I frown at him. “What are you so worried about?”
“Me? Nothing.”
“You keep fidgeting with your necklace.”
His hand immediately drops away, his palms splayed on top of his knees. He looks out the window at the passing trees and then his leg starts bouncing. Now I’m starting to get anxious.
The rest of the journey takes us through rolling fields and deep forests, the red-barked trees with the trunks the size of this carriage reaching high into the canopy above, and Andor is strangely silent the whole time, save for his fidgeting. By the time the coach turns off the main road, the late-afternoon sun is hidden away by the towering trees and far-off mountains, and we haven’t spoken another word to each other.
The road we’re on now is different from the mud and ruts of the main one. It’s paved with tiny pebbles, with a neatly trimmed strip of grass between the wheel tracks. On either side the land has been cleared into a meadow, making it easy to watch the curve of the road as it heads through iron gates and climbs up a small hill to a castle at the top, half-hidden among umberwoods and other trees.
“Welcome to Stormglen,” Andor says as the carriage rolls underneath the arch above the gates that boasts the name of the estate in ornate cursive.
“I thought you said it was heavily guarded,” I say, looking around the rolling fields and seeing nothing in sight except small yellow flowers. Even the woods seem far away now.
“Just trust me,” he says. “There’s a reason everything is so open around Stormglen. We can see the enemy coming from a mile away.”
“And do you have many enemies attacking you?”
“We did at one time. My father believes that time has come again. Everything is a cycle in this world.” His expression grows serious for a moment, his lips set in a hard line, his black brows furrowed together. “Don’t you feel it? Don’t you feel like everything in this world is moving toward some sort of new end?”